


Him.

by keraunoscopia



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religion, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:17:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: Say I shouldn’t be here but I can’t give up his touchIt is him I love, it is himDon’t you try and tell me that God doesn’t care for usIt is him I love, it is him I love





	Him.

**Author's Note:**

> From a tumblr prompt: HIM by Sam Smith. Thank you to tobeconspicuous for her incredibly helpful edits! <3

_Forgive me Father, for I have sinned._

Two hours. It had been two hours since Sonny Carisi had walked out of the penthouse apartment of a downtown high rise. The sun was still hours away from peeking over the horizon, and the moon and array of stars were hidden by soft grey, and the warm glow of city street lights. It was mid-December, and aside from the few taxis flying by, and the drunken call of homeless on the street, it was utterly still. Sonny wrapped his jacket a little tighter around his body, bracing himself against the chill that had settled deep into the marrow of his bones. 

He’d been walking for the past two hours, to nowhere in particular. He couldn’t go home, couldn’t go to the precinct, all he knew was that he needed to walk away. Away from the penthouse, away from what had happened. Away from _him_. He glanced down at the sidewalk, his tanned leather shoes moving in and out of the frame. 

He pulled a hand from his pocket, red and windburned from the cold, and traced a finger over his lips, dry and chapped. He could feel the memories that lingered there, like a specter unwilling to pass on, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

By fate, or chance, or some subconscious pull, he paused on the sidewalk, looking up at the dark looming building above him, the towering gothic pillars reaching into the heavens. St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Sonny hesitated, chest clenching as he thought back to earlier, two hours ago, and he walked up to the doors. He wasn’t sure if it was the cold against his skin, or guilt, but his hand trembled as he reached for the door, pushing it open slowly to step inside the cavernous hall. 

He pushed the door closed behind him, and let his eyes scan the room. The magnificent pillars, the stained glass still illuminated by the flickering candlelight, up to the convergence of the ceiling, with it’s subtle golden glow. And then he let his gaze fall to the altar. Sonny swallowed the lump in his throat and took a few steps forward, to the last pew. 

He dropped a knee to the cold floor, head bowed, and slowly brought his hand to his forehead, and his chest, and then each shoulder, sign of the cross, before he settled to his knees. There had been a time in his life when he thought that this was his home. 

He had grown up in the Roman Catholic Church as much as he had grown up in his parent’s house on Staten Island. He had gone to Catholic school, had volunteered with his mother in the pantry every Saturday, went to Mass every Sunday morning. When he was in fourth grade, and every kid in school had decided that he was too small, and too weak, and too annoying to play with, he had prayed. He knew that as alone as he had felt sitting on the swings at recess, that he wasn’t really; that God was with him, believed in him, wouldn’t give him more than he could handle. 

Sonny had thought that the Church was his calling, when he hit high school and all of the friends he’d managed to cultivate over the years suddenly became more interested in chasing girls. Priests couldn’t marry, didn’t marry. They channeled all of their devotion to God, and he thought that his lack of interest must have meant something, must have meant that God had a different plan for him. 

He laced his fingers together, resting his fists on the wooden pew. This couldn’t have been God’s plan. He’d gotten lost, gone astray somehow. 

“My child, what brings you here at this hour?” The voice startled Sonny out of his prayers, and his hand moved to his hip reflexively before he remembered he wasn’t carrying. He relaxed at the familiar sight in front of him, black clothes, stark white collar. 

“Father,” he exhaled slowly, a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in his chest. He looked up, eyes wide and watery blue. “I’m struggling.” Somehow those admissions, the ones he struggled to admit to himself, the things he could never bear to say aloud to anyone else, spilled out of him like a storm surge as he crossed the threshold into the Church. 

The priest, silver grey, a pillar in it of himself, tilted his head, ever so slightly, “what is it you need, my child?” 

“Reconciliation,” he bowed his head slightly, couldn’t seem to meet his gaze. The priest nodded, and lead the detective to the confessional, stepping past the heavy velvet curtain. Sonny hesitated for a moment, stomach churning. 

His fingertips lingered on the velvet curtain as he pulled it aside and sank to his knees, “in the name of the Father,” he brought his hand to his forehead again, “the son” hand to his chest, “and the holy spirit,” his fingertips grazed each of his shoulders, “forgive me father, for I have sinned, it has been two weeks and three days since my last confession,” his voice hitched, the words caught in his throat, “I had a moment of weakness.”

Only silence on the other side of the screen, unending patience, unyielding forgiveness, the two things Sonny knew he could rely on. He could feel the acrid taste of bile rising in the back of his throat, and he struggled to swallow, “I’ve had impure thoughts, about a man, I kissed him,” he choked out the words, tears on the precipice. “I’ve tried, so hard to keep this at bay, I have prayed so many times to be absolved of this weakness, Father, I…” he couldn’t hold back the soft sob. “These are my sins,” his voice barely above a whisper, “these are my sins, and I’m sorry for them.” 

Sonny reached up slowly, wiping away the wet trails down his cheeks, still pink and flushed from the cold, head still bowed. The silence between them persisted, and he could feel the sickening anxiety blossoming in the pit of his stomach. Reconciliation wasn’t a right, the priest could deny him absolution. His stomach twisted again, he deserved that. 

“My child,” the priest spoke softly, Sonny had to lean forward to make out each syllable, “we know that the Lord doesn’t saddle us with burdens that we cannot handle. Right now you are struggling to find your way. Such is life, we all have our burdens that we must grapple with in our path to righteousness. It is important to remember that we are not defined by our setbacks, that no obstacle is insurmountable, even if you fail first in your attempts. For your penance, fast for a day, and recite the Rosary a hundred times. I encourage you to recite it when you feel your mind drifting to impurity.” 

Sonny raised his head, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat, “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In his name, my God, have mercy.”

When he stepped out of the confessional, he felt like he could breathe again. 

_Lead us not into temptation_.

Sonny Carisi managed to avoid him for thirty nine hours and fourteen minutes, not that he’d admit he had been counting. He had stayed outside after the confession, bracing the frigid wind until the golden glow of morning stretched his shadow. As he headed home, his fingers traced the delicate glass beads in his pocket, lips mouthing a silent recitation. 

He didn’t have to be weak. Didn’t have to give into temptation. 

Sonny showered the cold out of his bones, and getting ready for work was more automation than conscious movement. He straightened his tie and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, the ice blue irises just struck him as dull grey. He reached for his rosary, pale blue glass beads, the same one his grandmother had given him for his First Communion all of those years ago. His fingers traced each bead with reverent care, silently articulating each prayer, and then he let the beads pool in his pants pocket, a subtle reminder brushing against his thigh with each step on his way to work. 

The day passed uneventfully, though they all commented on his sallow face, his tired eyes, he excused his lack of appetite on not feeling well. His hand ached from the paperwork they had gotten through during his standard ten hour shift, and when he finally fell into bed at the end of the day, he didn’t have the strength, or the energy to dwell on the night before. 

But the following day, the following day they caught a case two hours into his shift, and Sonny spent three hours with Amanda tracking down the man that their victim had accused of raping her. When they finally managed to cuff him and haul him into the station, there was someone standing outside of the interrogation room, waiting expectantly. _Him_.

Sonny could feel his throat go dry, and he struggled to swallow. His hand moved to his pocket, fingers grazing the glass beads in his pocket. A reminder, but he could feel himself shrinking under Rafael’s piercing gaze, his eyes so incredibly green. 

“Counselor,” Sonny nodded before stepping into the interrogation room. He couldn’t wait for a response, didn’t want to hear what Rafael had to say anyway. Not that Rafael would say something personal there, in front of a suspect, in front of Amanda, but just the memory of Rafael’s voice made his knees weak, and he clenched his hand a little tighter around the rosary. 

They spent seven hours and twenty six minutes in the box with the suspect before he finally confessed, thanks in part to Sonny’s gentle coaxing, and Amanda’s subtle admiration inspiring confidence. He handed a pen to the perp, watching him carefully as he signed the written confession. Finally he stepped out of the room on Amanda’s heels. 

He hadn’t counted on Rafael sticking around, hadn’t expected that the assistant district attorney had nothing better to do than watch an interrogation for almost eight hours, but there he was, tie slightly loosened, collar unbuttoned, a curl of his hair just a little out of place. Sonny felt his breath catch in his throat, could feel the ghost of a kiss against his chapped lips, a memory. 

“Detective, can I speak to you?” he took a step forward, and Amanda turned too, but kept walking when she realized he was speaking to Sonny. 

Sonny’s eyes trailed her as she walked away, abandonment. “I, uh, sure,” he finally relented, cursing how unsteady his voice seemed. They walked to the end of the hall, farther away from the bullpen, farther away from their colleagues, but Sonny side stepped trying to increase the space between them. 

“About last night…” Rafael started slowly, his dark green eyes glanced up, and the detective cringed at what he saw there. Rafael was always so poised, always so strong, so confident, but it was there, clear in his expression, doubt. 

“Don’t,” Sonny shook his head, voice a little more gruff than he intended, he lowered his gaze. He knew Rafael well enough to know that hurt was flashing across his face, “it was a mistake. It was wrong.” He shoved his hand back in his pocket, and turned on his heel. He couldn’t have this conversation, not now, not when his mind wanted to wander to the soft smell of peppermint and coffee, wanted to trace the soft curve where Rafael’s neck met his shoulder. 

A hand clasped around his elbow, firm, not hard enough to hurt, but Sonny flinched anyway, “Sonny, I don’t understand,” he’d never heard that tone in Rafael’s voice before, breathy, pleading, so close to desperation. 

“Stop, don’t touch me,” he shrugged out of the grasp, and glanced over his shoulder for a moment. “I’m not judging the way you live your life, counselor, that’s between you and God,” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, “but I’m not going to live in sin,” and with that, he walked back into the bullpen. 

_Loosen the bonds of our sins_.

Sonny Carisi didn’t smoke, he had always thought cigarettes were sort of disgusting, and cigars were worse, but the aversion seemed to disappear somewhere between drink four and six. So he leaned his hip against the wrought iron railing of a bar patio, drink number nine in one hand, a half burned cigarette in the other, nestled comfortably between his index and middle finger. 

A pretty girl was standing next to him, chatting away animatedly, her hand toying with her blond curls. Sonny wanted to be interested in what she was saying, wanted to care about the words that were tumbling out of her mouth at rapid speed, but instead he just watched her, noting how green her eyes were, what a familiar color it was. He brought the beer to his lips, taking a long swig, swallowing hard before replacing the cool glass of the bottle with the soft paper of the cigarette, inhaling a little too long, letting it hurt a little too much. 

“I um,” she glanced down, bright blush rising on her cheeks, Sonny frowned, “my apartment’s not too far from here…” she looked back up at him, bashful. It did nothing, but that dark green of her eyes was like a bolt straight through his chest again. 

“I’m sorry,” his words came out a little more unsteady than intended. Sonny glanced at the bottle in his hand, wondering if he had miscounted. “I’m not really looking for anything tonight,” he added, taking another drag from the cigarette. 

The woman’s face burned bright red, and she pushed past him quickly. Sonny’s hip hit the metal railing, and the beer bottle slid out of his hand, shattering on the concrete. He cursed softly, and glanced to the door back into the bar. He didn’t want to look like he was following the girl, didn’t really want to go back into the crowd, packed like sardines into one of the cheapest bars near his apartment. 

Instead he just brought the cigarette to his lips again, and reached his hand into his pocket. His fingers brushed glass beads, but he pulled his cell out instead. He fumbled for a few seconds, trying to coordinate his thumb enough to type in his passcode. A small victory. He blinked, heavy lidded and slow as he stared at his phone, finger hovering over the number he so desperately wanted to call. 

It had been six months. Six months since Rafael had invited him up for a nightcap after grabbing dinner. It had been casual, two colleagues, maybe friends sharing a meal after a hard won victory, but he had wanted it to be more. He had wanted, so desperately, for Rafael to want him. And so they had walked in silence to the elevator, and Rafael’s shoulder had pressed against his as the ascended to the penthouse. The prosecutor had poured them both scotch, and they had both settled into Rafael’s couch. Sonny knew he had been the one to press, to lean forward, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. He had crossed the line, pulling Rafael into a searing, but soft kiss, the taste of whiskey and peppermint lingering between them. 

It had felt like forever and a split second at the same time. When Sonny pulled away and let his eyes trace over the sharp, masculine planes of Rafael’s face, he’d felt sick to his stomach. He’d walked out without another word. 

He’d spent six months replaying the moment over in his mind, six months replaying his confession, six months wondering what exactly it was that caused the blossoming ache of regret in his stomach. Was it really the kiss he regretted? Or was it his confession? He hadn’t been able to step foot in a confessional since, hadn’t been able to bring himself to accept the sacrament of communion. How could he ask to be absolved of a sin he wasn’t sure he was sorry for?

Sonny glanced at his phone again, and dialed the number, holding it to his ear. It rang, once, twice, a third time. The detective moved to hang up the phone when he heard the call connect, the soft, husky voice across the line, “Carisi? What’s going on?” 

Of course he thought it was about a case, Sonny cursed internally, they didn’t talk anymore, didn’t share words other than those related to the intersection of their given professions, even then it was rarely cordial. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to figure out what he actually wanted to say when he called…

“I miss you.” 

It really wasn’t what he had meant to say, but his brain couldn’t seem to piece together any other words. 

“I miss you and I’m so sorry I fucked up.” 

There was only silence on the other line, a pregnant pause, and if he hadn’t been able to hear the steady inhale and exhale through the line, he might have thought that Rafael had hung up. 

“Detective, are you drunk?” 

Sonny winced. He didn’t know what sort of response he was looking for from Rafael, but that wasn’t it. “I’ve had a few,” his words slurred together, punctuating his point. “But I mean it. I never should have walked out…”

His words trailed off uncomfortably, only met with dead air on the other side of the phone. He glanced up at the sky overhead. It was a warm night, not a cloud in the sky, but he couldn’t pick out a single star in the sky. 

“Rafael?” Sonny asked, so quietly the ADA almost didn’t hear him. 

“Yeah, Sonny?” 

There were so many things running through his head, so many things he wanted to say, so much he had been grappling with, but it all caught in his throat, “I’m sorry. I really hope you believe me when I say that.” He didn’t wait for a response, couldn’t bear the possibility of Rafael admitting that he didn’t, so Sonny just hung up the phone and headed back in to the bar for another beer. 

By the time Sonny was back on the patio, he’d lost count of how many drinks and cigarettes in he was. His head was spinning in that delightfully light sort of way, he leaned heavily against the railing, watching the city below, the homeless man rooting around in a dumpster, the likely underage group of drunk girls trying to catch a taxi, everyone else, moving about their business. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” 

Sonny spun around in a rush at the voice, its familiar warmth soothing the rising anxiety in his stomach in a way that nothing else seemed to be able to do. He glanced from green eyes to the lit cigarette between his fingers. 

“I don’t usually,” he shrugged his shoulders, but sagged back against the railing. He had wanted to see Rafael so badly, still wanted to reach out, still wanted to touch him, but his stomach churned. “Why are you here?” 

Rafael paused, hands stuffed in his pockets, head bowed slightly, “you ended the call so abruptly, I was worried about you, sounded sort of like you might do something stupid.” He trailed off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Why don’t I get you home, detective, its late, you’re drunk.” 

Sonny couldn’t read the expression on Rafael’s face, but agreed, putting the cigarette out on the railing, tossing the butt into the trash. “I could have gotten home alone, you know…” He hadn’t asked Rafael to come rescue him, didn’t want Rafael to think that he called him because he needed him… 

“Alright, come on, go settle your tab,” Rafael let out a heavy, resigned sigh, and followed Sonny back into the humid crowd of the bar. 

Stepping out onto the street was like breathing a breath of fresh air, and even the sticky humidity of late June was a reprieve from the blistering horde inside the bar. The street was empty, and startlingly quiet compared to the bar. Sonny let his eyes wander brazenly over the man in front of him as he followed him to the sidewalk. 

“Uber’s on the way,” Rafael mumbled, looking up at Sonny, and under the incandescent glow of the streetlight above them, his eyes looked so much more green than Sonny remembered. He was so much closer than Sonny remembered too, barely a breath between them. He could feel his heartbeat echoing in his ears, thrumming in his chest. “Sonny,” Rafael breathed out slowly, and the detective could feel the hot humidity of his breath against his skin. 

Sonny reached up, with an unexpected grace, and let his thumb graze the rough hint of stubble of Rafael’s cheek. “You are so beautiful,” Sonny murmured faintly. 

A soft blush blossomed on Rafael’s cheeks, Sonny could feel the subtle heat under his thumb, still pressed against his skin, but Rafael’s eyes fell, “please don’t do this, Sonny. You’re drunk, you won’t want this in the morning.” 

Sonny winced, withdrawing his hand like he’d been burned, and he opened his mouth to reply, to explain that he might be drunk, and he might be confused, but that he did know that he wanted Rafael. But the ADA took a step back, and before he could figure out how to articulate what it was that he wanted to say, a car pulled up to the curb. 

The ride to Sonny’s apartment was short, and he expected only to be dropped off in front of his building, but Rafael had thanked the uber driver, and held the door to the building open for Sonny, still stumbling, leaning heavily against the railing to keep his balance, his last few beers catching up with him. 

Rafael offered a steadying arm as they climbed up the four flights of stairs to Sonny’s apartment, and gently took the keys out of the detective’s grasp as he fumbled to try and fit the key in the lock. Sonny sucked in a deep breath as he stepped into his apartment, Rafael on his heels. The lawyer had never been there, had never been invited into Sonny’s space, and the detective knew exactly how much his apartment said about him, the photos of his family and friends on the mantle, the law books laying out on nearly every surface, the cross hanging above his bed, the worn, annotated bible on his night stand. 

He wanted to tell Rafael that he was okay, that he could handle it from here, but the room was spinning, and his mouth didn’t seem to want to listen to his brain. 

“Why don’t you go lay down,” Rafael suggested, already nosing around the kitchen. 

Sonny didn’t have it in him to disagree, just nodded, and padded softly into his bedroom, stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Rafael appeared a few moments later with a glass of water, and a few Advil. “I’ll just let myself out,” he added, turning for the door. 

“Don’t, please,” Sonny managed out, and Rafael hovered in the doorframe. “Please don’t go…” he pleaded, somehow certain that if Rafael left tonight, that would be it, anything between them, any possibility that still existed would be gone. 

Rafael looked up, eyes meeting soft blue, and Sonny could see his face fall. “I’ll sleep on the couch, alright?” he finally relented, unsure how exactly how he was supposed to say no to that pleading look. 

“Okay,” Sonny murmured, nestling a little further into soft cotton sheets, “just don’t go.”

 _Make me this day your devoted servant_.

When Sonny woke, golden rays were just starting to peer through the narrow gap in his drawn curtains, even though the muted yellow hue was just starting to take the darkness of the room, he pinched his eyes closed, hand moving to his forehead as he groaned. His head was throbbing, could feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat reverberating in his skull, beating just behind his eyes. 

He rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow and sighing heavily as the memories of the night before came flooding back to him. He had called Rafael, and he’d shown up, and Sonny had asked him to stay… Sheer curiosity, and maybe a the tiniest bit of hope drove him out of his bed. He moved to the bedroom door slowly, with heavy, uncertain steps, but paused as he saw his own reflection in the mirror. His hair was more mussed than usual, dark circles sagging under his eyes, still only in his undershirt and boxers. 

He grabbed a sweatshirt off the top of his dresser and pulled it on quickly before he pulled the door open. Despite his caution, the hinges creaked loudly, and he winced, head throbbing sharply. He peered out into his living room, it was a small apartment, and even from his doorway, half hidden behind solid oak, he could see every nook and cranny. No Rafael. His eyes lingered on the couch, a pillow, a folded sheet, a folded blanket, stacked neatly. 

He was gone, but he had stayed… Sonny swallowed hard, that was something at least. 

The door knob rattled, the familiar sound of keys in the lock, and the door swung open, and the sight in front of him nearly knocked Sonny off his already unsteady feet. Rafael, dressed casually in a soft navy sweater, and jeans, and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed the outfit the night before. His hair was loose, slightly ruffled from sleep, and he had a tray with two coffee cups and a familiar waxed bag. 

Sonny’s stomach churned. He’d had a lot to drink the night before, had lost count somewhere around eleven drinks. That much must have been obvious to Rafael and for a moment Sonny considered playing it off like a blackout. He could so easily deny the things he had said, could so easily go back to the subtle animosity from Rafael if it meant that he could maintain his relationship with God. But denying had gotten him nowhere, except a third floor bar patio, ten drinks and half a pack of cigarettes in. 

“Oh you’re awake,” Rafael remarked from the entry, letting the heavy wood door swing closed behind him, the surprise evident on his face. 

Sonny ran a hand through his hair, stepping into the living room a little more completely, “yeah, look…” he trailed off, unsure what to say. He wasn’t sure if the drunk version of himself had an explanation for why he had called Rafael, why he’d asked him to stay, but any justification he’d had last night was gone now. “I’m sorry I called you, made you come and scrape my ass off a barstool,” he added jokingly, hoping to deflect with comedy,. 

Rafael stepped into the apartment in silence, walked around the couch to drop the coffees and bag of pastries on the coffee table, and he settled into the plush cushions of the sofa. “I just don’t understand why you did…” he trailed off quietly, reaching for one of the coffee cups. 

Sonny nodded mutely and reached for the second cup of coffee, dropping into the armchair with a heavy sigh. “I was awful to you. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you, Rafael, and I’m sorry about that,” he pulled the top off his coffee cup and brought it to his lips slowly. 

“That doesn’t explain…” Sonny shook his head, he wasn’t finished, just couldn’t seem to find the right words. 

“I was raised in the Church. Not like we went to Mass on Sundays and Christmas and Easter, like my uncle was our Priest growing up, I went to Catholic school, helped my mom at the pantry every weekend. I thought I was going to be a priest, three of my cousins are, actually…” he took a shaky breath in. “I didn’t, because I knew I wanted it for all the wrong reasons, because I’ve been fighting this since I was twelve.” 

Rafael’s face was unreadable, brows knitted together slightly, lips pursed, but he was listening intently. Sonny looked away, couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “I- I kissed you, and I wanted to, I did, but I felt so disgusted with myself, felt so weak. I think I walked around outside for two hours after I left your place, and I ended up in a confessional repenting, and I guess I was looking for a priest to tell me that it was okay, that God wouldn’t condemn me for my feelings, but he didn’t. He absolved me of my sins.” 

Sonny’s breath caught in his throat. 

“So why call now. It’s been six months. I’m assuming the Catholic church didn’t have a sudden revelation that homosexuality is okay with them…”

Sonny ducked his head, heat rising from his neck to the tips of his ears, “six months ago was the last time I was in a confessional. And I’ve thought about you every day since. I can’t go back, can’t asked to be absolved again, because for contrition, you need to mean that you regret your sins, and I can’t bring myself to regret.” 

Rafael’s head lifted ever so slightly, and Sonny could see something flash across those green eyes. 

“I know things aren’t okay between us, I know I hurt you. But I miss you, Rafael. And well, if nothing else, I wanted to finally say it aloud,” his hand tightened around the paper coffee cup, trembling slightly. 

“Say what?” Rafael cocked his head to the side before taking a sip of his coffee. 

“That I’m gay.” Sonny’s voice was barely above a whisper, timid as a field mouse. It was the first time the words had ever crossed his lips, and even in his own voice, it sounded foreign against his tongue. 

Rafael paused for a moment, and Sonny shifted uncomfortably in the silence. The ADA set his coffee cup back on the table, slowly shifting across the couch, settling into the end nearest Sonny’s chair, and he reached out his hand. His movements were slow, deliberate but cautious, and he took Sonny’s pale hand in his own, taking a moment to appreciate the stark contrast of tones. 

“I’m not going to say it didn’t hurt, it did,” he started softly, “I never stopped caring about you, though, and to be honest, I understand. I don’t have the same attachment to the Church that you do, but I was raised Catholic too, I know the stigma, I came out during the peak of the AIDs epidemic in the Bronx. I know how crushing it can be, knowing that everyone around you, everyone who’s supposed to love you condemns this part of yourself that you’ve been struggling to accept in the first place…” Rafael trailed off, and Sonny offered a gentle, reassuring squeeze, their fingers still laced together. “What do you want though? Because you know where I stand, Sonny.” 

“I want to try, if you’ll have me.” 

_Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners_.

It took two trains, a bus, and twenty blocks of walking before Sonny finally reached his destination on a freezing November morning, harsh winds whipping at his exposed skin like a knife. The sun had just crested the horizon, bathing the familiar streets in a gentle flaxen glow. 

He looked up at the familiar brick, heavy red doors, the towering arched windows, the stone cross above the entryway. Once upon a time it would have felt like coming home, instead, he could just taste bile rising in his throat. It had been four months since he had stepped foot in a church, four months since he had decided that if he was already condemned to impurity, he could at least try to be with Rafael. 

A gust of wind caught the hem of his coat, like some sort of unseen creature was pushing him away from the doors. Sonny let out a heavy sigh and stepped inside, door slamming behind him and the noise seemed to echo unendingly in the empty hall. He walked carefully, each foot placed firmly in front of the other, heel then toe. He let his hand fall to the wooden pews, dragging his fingertips along the arms of each as he passed them, the way he always had when he was little, approaching the altar for communion. 

When he reached the altar, he lifted his gaze, looking up at the crucifix above, eyes lingering on the crown of thorns over brown curls, then the nails in each palm, the lance wound, red and bleeding at his side, the blood red cloth, and finally resting on the nails in each foot. 

Sonny dropped to his knees, let his hand move in familiar rhythm, making the sign of the cross. He had spent hours there as a child, trying to speak to God, trying to listen, trying to hear an answer. But no answer had ever come, no voice in his ear, no holy understanding. Maybe God had abandoned him back then. 

“Please,” he whispered, but his voice seemed to reverberate into the rafters of the chapel. “God I don’t understand why you’ve left me, why I can’t absolve myself of this burden,” his voice broke, cracked as heavy sobs wracked his frame. He leaned forward, hands splayed on the step of the altar, elbows buckling under the weight of him. 

Sonny wasn’t sure how long he held himself there, but he turned his head slowly, red eyed and tear stained, when a hand dropped to his shoulder gently. 

“Sonny,” the voice was soft, familiar, “what are you doing here?” Salvatore, his cousin, the parish priest of St. Ambrose, the church they’d grown up in. 

“Sal,” Sonny’s voice cracked again, choking back another sob as he lifted himself back on his heels, pulling his hands off the altar step. 

The priest moved his hand from Sonny’s shoulder to his arm, and guided up gently. “Why don’t you come with me to the rectory,” Sal offered softly, “let’s talk about what’s ailing you.” 

Sonny just nodded, following the priest, close on his heels. When the door clicked shut, the detective slumped into an armchair, like all the fight had gone out of his body, too tired to even hold himself upright. Salvatore settled into the armchair next to him, crossing his legs neatly, folding his hands in his lap, and he waited for a moment, to see if Sonny was going to speak unprompted. 

“Your mother last told me that you were living in Manhattan, that you barely came out this way for Sunday dinners, how is it you ended up in St. Ambrose at five on a Tuesday morning?” Sal asked slowly, his voice even, steady, not the kid that Sonny remembered playing t-ball with. 

“I took the a couple trains, a bus, and I walked…” Sonny let his head fall against the back of the chair, and his fingers picked at the wicker cane of the armrest. 

“That’s fair,” Sal nodded, “why are you here, I should ask.” 

Sonny paused, eyes narrowing on a stray end of the cane that had broken free from the weave, “I did something terrible, and I didn’t know where else to go.” The cane snapped between his thumb and index finger, and he looked up at Sal, “this place has always felt more like a refuge than anywhere else.” 

Patience, always unending, Sal paused thoughtfully. “You will always have a home here, Sonny, no matter how far you stray. Do you want to talk about what it is you did?” 

Sonny lowered his gaze, ice blue nearly blown black, his fingers toyed with the snapped piece of cane, the sharp grain dragging over each ridge and valley of his fingertips. “I’m gay.” He could feel the heavy weight of another sob building in his chest, straining against his throat. “I tried to fight it and I failed, I-“ his breath caught, “I’ve been seeing a man, w-we, slept together last night.” 

His eyes scanned the room slowly, lingering on the dark wooden bookshelves, the paintings hanging on the walls in antique gold frames, the crucifix above the door into a little kitchenette, anywhere but on the man in front of him. 

“Sonny, tell me, do you think God is infallible?” Sal shifted in his chair as he spoke, and the detective frowned, finally letting his gaze rest on the man in front of him. 

“Of course.”

“And yet the scripture teaches us that God became so disheartened with the humanity he created that he had the world ravaged by flood, and chose only to save Noah and his wife,” Sal spoke softly, each word chosen with gentle care, and Sonny hung on to each syllable. “So perhaps then, even God is not infallible.” 

Sonny paused, twisting the cane in his hand again as he considered the words, trying to piece together the implications. 

“And if God, then, is infallible, we of course know that mankind is,” Salvatore continued, and Sonny’s frown just etched deeper into his features. “Have you ever thought about the fact that our scriptures are only written by man? Sonny? That they’ve been translated and re-translated and transcribed over and over again since the beginning of time?” 

He hadn’t. Sonny unclasped his fingers, letting the piece of cane fall into his lap, and he looked back up to Sal, eyes wide, and searching. 

“So isn’t it possible that homosexuality isn’t a sin? Of course, we know the position of the Church right now. And we know from history that the stance of the Church can change. But I like to think that God wouldn’t condemn to hell, two people, for loving each other, innocently and earnestly, with the same sort of devotion we expect from a straight couple. Do you love him?”

Sonny opened his mouth and snapped it closed again as he struggled to digest the words passing the priest’s lips. “I…” he hadn’t said as much, hadn’t told Rafael, hadn’t let himself think about it, but he didn’t need to. “I do, I love him.”

Sal nodded slowly, “then, at least, take solace in this, Peter four eight, ‘above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.’”

 _Holy father, judge my sins, I’m not afraid of what they will bring._.

Sonny sank into the back seat of a taxi cab, his eyes fixed on the minute hand of his watch, willing with everything he had for the steady ticking to slow. The drive into Manhattan would take an hour without traffic, Sonny held his breath, clinging to the hope that the driver would navigate him back in time. He could feel the blossoming anxiety in his stomach extend into his chest, gripping at his lungs like a vice as each minute ticked away. 

Rafael’s alarm went off at the same time every day. The ADA rose at seven fifteen every morning to the sound of a timed coffee pot brewing. If there was no delay, no traffic, Sonny could make it to the elevator, up to the penthouse apartment, and slip back into the bedroom before Rafael woke. 

Sonny’s stomach churned again, a completely different kind of anxiety than he’d had when he had traveled out to Staten Island. If Rafael woke up alone, only next to the empty space of where Sonny had been, after that night, he would think that Sonny had left, had run again. 

Maybe he had run, he’d gotten up as soon as Rafael’s body relaxed, taken by dreams. He had collected his clothes, his keys, his coat and closed the door behind him with an uncertain finality. But he hadn’t meant it to be like last time, hadn’t wandered aimlessly, wracked with guilt, had no intention to kneel in a confessional and denounce everything between them. 

If he didn’t make it back before Rafael rose, there’d be no explaining the difference. 

The taxi ride emptied his wallet, but Sonny breathed a soft sigh of relief as he looked up at the high rise, eyes drawn to the top floor windows before he checked his watch. 6:55. He nodded to the doorman as he pushed through the front doors, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for the lift doors to open. 

Sonny stumbled in as soon as the gates parted, his thumb found the smooth plastic of the 31st button, admiring the golden glow as it illuminated, ascending slowly to the top floor. His hand trembled as he slid the key into the front lock, cursing how loud it was, the rise and fall of the tumbler pins inside the mechanism, and he pushed the door open, slipping inside. 

The door hadn’t even swung shut when he saw it, or him, Rafael, fully dressed in a three piece suit, hair neatly affixed into its gelled curve, draped elegantly over an armchair, staring out the wall of windows. Sonny had always admired the panoramic view of the city from Rafael’s apartment. 

“You left,” Rafael’s voice was soft, husky but his eyes didn’t leave the window, Sonny was almost glad, too afraid of the hurt that he’d see there. “I woke up in the middle of the night and you were gone.” 

“I came back.” Sonny added meekly, taking a few steps into the apartment. 

“Why?” Rafael turned his gaze, settling his piercing emerald glare on Sonny’s ice blue. 

“Because I love you.”


End file.
